Page 173

Dragon Valley, before the Rock Fortress.

The dragonblood creatures stood ready, letting out low growls.

Wyverns flew in dense formations overhead, their wings overlapping like thick, dark clouds that blotted out the sun.

The thunderous stomps of plains drakes shook the ground, resonating like war drums. Three chimeras stood at the cliff's edge, their three heads roaring in unison.

Dragonblood hobgoblins and lizardfolk manned the fortress, silently awaiting the enemy’s arrival.

Though the most elite forces had been redeployed to the south, the vassals stationed in Dragon Valley remained the backbone of the former Ember Nest, many of them veterans of the Battle of Trier. They had yet to join the red dragon in the south.

In Cassius’s absence, Droll, a trusted subordinate of Dolo, served as the temporary overseer of Dragon Valley.

Droll had inherited the position that Dolo had once dreamed of, though the Ember Kingdom’s focus had shifted to Northwind Fortress, making Dragon Valley a frontier stronghold and recruitment hub.

“Whoosh—”

A cold wind howled through the valley.

Droll sneezed, his expression growing increasingly grim.

“Just as Lord Dolo predicted, they come with the cold wind…”

“The frost giants.”

The hobgoblin stood atop the Rock Fortress, peering into the distance, where massive figures began to appear on the horizon—the frost giant army.

Over a hundred frost giants, some riding massive tundra drakes and others charging on foot, advanced toward the valley, accompanied by plumes of steam and mist.

The ground trembled violently under the giants’ rapid march.

As Dragon Valley’s interim overseer, Droll, though inexperienced, refrained from giving any elaborate pre-battle speeches. Instead, he raised his lance emblazoned with the Ember sigil and, imitating Dolo, shouted:

“For the Ember Kingdom!”

“Fight for the great red dragon!”

A cacophony of cheers erupted from the vassals below, their excitement and fervor echoing across the valley.

“Roar—roar—”

These were warriors who had fought in previous battles, their reverence for the red dragon bordering on worship, especially since the Ember Kingdom had filled their bellies.

While the frost giants were formidable, the dragonblood vassals felt only exhilaration at the prospect of facing a powerful foe—they were, after all, the claws and fangs of the red dragon.

In the frost giant ranks, Baya swung his dragonbone pickaxe and roared his battle cry.

“Take this fortress!”

“Let them feel the wrath of the frost disaster!”

The frost giants charged forward with the icy wind.

But they first fell into traps dug by the kobolds, those unassuming masters of traps. Several frost giants toppled into specially crafted pits, impaled on sharp stakes.

One tundra drake even tripped on a steel cable, letting out a mournful cry as it collapsed, crushing its rider and two frost giants beneath it.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

At Droll's command to "fire," the Rock Fortress roared to life with cannon fire, shaking the valley.

Shells rained down on the frost giants, shrapnel tearing through the air, and clouds of dust erupted as unlucky giants were blasted apart on the spot.

Baya, stunned by the sudden casualties, bellowed in fury:

“These tricks won’t stop us!”

“Charge forward and crush them!”

Despite several comrades falling, the frost giants showed no sign of retreat.

“Screeech!”

The “dark clouds” above descended—a chaotic swarm of wyverns dived down, spitting searing flames, biting with their sharp teeth, or stinging with venomous barbed tails.

The frost giants, after suffering initial losses, quickly counterattacked.

Born as natural enemies of draconic creatures, the frost giants were adept at hunting these flying lizards.

They hurled massive boulders into the sky, striking down disorganized wyverns. When the wyverns swooped down to attack, the giants would seize them, dragging them to the ground to engage in vicious melee combat.

With their superior size and strength, the frost giants often shredded the grounded wyverns into bloody rags.

“Annoying bugs!”

Baya leapt high, using his dragonbone pickaxe to hook a wyvern from the air.

The frost giant warrior, leveraging his immense weight, slammed the wyvern to the ground, pinning it beneath his massive body before tearing its slender neck apart with brute force.

“Rip—”

Blood sprayed across Baya's scorched face, and he grinned savagely, readying himself for his next target.

Meanwhile, the ground forces of Dragon Valley launched their attack, seizing the opportunity created by the wyverns' assault.

“Advance!”

Droll gave the order, his heart pounding with excitement. His hand trembled slightly as he gripped his saber, a mix of nerves and exhilaration coursing through him.

The hobgoblin infantry marched in disciplined lines, their movements synchronized with the drumming of satyr musicians.

Though the frost giants occasionally threw boulders, crushing a few hobgoblins, replacements quickly filled the gaps.

As the infantry drew within fifty paces of the giants, close enough to smell their stench and feel their icy breath, Droll gave the final command, echoing Dolo’s earlier strategies.

His heart raced—whether from excitement or anxiety, he couldn’t tell.

“Ready—”

The hobgoblins raised their rifles in unison, the sound of their preparation rippling through the ranks.

“Fire!”

The hobgoblins pulled their triggers.

“Bang!”

The gunfire roared, a line of smoke rising from the barrels as the scent of gunpowder filled the air.

Not far ahead, several frost giants wavered before collapsing to the ground with earth-shaking thuds, kicking up clouds of dust.

These massive targets were far easier to hit than smaller foes. Expanding, deformed rounds tore through their thick hides, wreaking havoc within their large bodies, even bringing down the resilient frost giants with surprising ease.

“Ahhh—”

“It hurts!”

Some frost giants struggled on the ground, their faces twisted in agony, unable to comprehend how they could fall so easily.

Baya, stunned by the devastating volley, dropped the mangled wyvern in his grip and glared at the hobgoblin infantry with a dark, brooding expression:

“Damn it…”

“How can such small creatures kill our warriors so easily?”

The Eternal Frost Tribe only had about 500 adult frost giants in total, making every warrior an invaluable asset. Excessive losses would bring repercussions, even for Baya, the chieftain’s brother.

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